“Like Mother, she’s short and kind of thin, but Anya’s features are more Asian, with dark hair and eyes. I guess her hands are similar, too—small and delicate, with thin fingers. She fidgets her thumbnails back and forth, back and forth as she talks. “So…how’s your job going?” I ask. Not that I’m especially interested in transportation computing, whatever that is. I just want to avoid the topic Anya always brings up as soon as there’s a lull in the conversation.Anya smiles. “It’s going well. I’l...l probably never be as quick with some of the systems as those who were trained organically, but…I don’t mind the challenge. And Toronto is nice.”It’s about ten minutes until three, and Anya always stays exactly one hour each time she visits. I pause, hoping she’ll go on a bit longer about work, but the silence is back. I scramble to think of something non-work related to say. Generally speaking, I avoid talking about my work at the museum, both because it’s boring as holy hell and because it seems to be a sore spot for Anya.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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